Elevator
by catherine.cat33
Summary: Clare is a succesful buisnesswoman, living in New York, who thinks that she has her life all figured out.  When she gets stuck on an elevator with a strange green-eyed man she is forced to re-think her life and will be changed forever.  AU.
1. Elevator

**Author's note: **Hey there, it's Catherine (Cat's evil twin, teehee, or maybe she's the evil one…), this was originally intended to be a one-shot, but I'm not really sure what I'm going to do. But this was pretty fun to write. It is an AU and Clare and Eli are in there early thirties. I really hope you like it, and please review!

**Disclaimer:** I do NOT own Degrassi…only my own ideas.

_Elevator:_

I walk through the revolving door to my office building and briefly wave to the people at the front desk. I glance down at my watch. 8:03. _Fuck. _I'm late for the eight o'clock meeting. I start running towards the elevator, my feet being abraded by my new work heels. I'm going to have blisters tomorrow. I see the elevator doors closing and start sprinting.

"Wait!" I yell, thinking that it's already too late.

To my surprise, I see a hand poke through the elevator doors, stopping them from closing fully. I sigh a breath of relief and straighten myself out as the doors reopen. There is a man standing in the elevator and as I look him over I notice two things. The first, that he looks very peculiar in this work setting where I am used to seeing men dressed only in suits and the occasional pair of khakis on a Friday. This man is wearing a black leather jacket over some sort of band tee and tight gray jeans. I glance at his hands and note that some of his fingernails are coated with what looks like black sharpie. He looks to be about my age: in his early thirties, but he is dressed as some of the high school kids do. Somehow though, it seems to suit him. He wears his leather jacket and tight pants as if he were the one who invented the look. The second thing I notice is that he is extremely attractive. He's got green eyes that seem to smolder, big lips that are turned up at one side, and dark hair that frames his face perfectly. With his hands tucked into his pockets and his eyebrows raised at me he looks…sexy. But of course, he's not my type. I don't go for guys like that. I want nothing to do with this mysterious man with the green eyes and clothes like a teenager. My kind of guy is someone like me; someone who works hard at his job and takes himself seriously; someone who wears a suit and the occasional khaki on a Friday; someone predictable and well…normal.

The doors begin to close and I realize that I've been staring at him. _This is New York._ I have to remind myself, even after having lived here for the past ten years. This is where people never make eye contact and always face front towards the elevator door. This is where people look at no one and focus only on getting where they need to go. And right now, where I need to go is to the seventeenth floor to make it in time for my meeting. I press the button on the elevator and feel my equilibrium shift as we rise from the Earth.

"You really wanted to make this elevator, didn't you?" He says and I look at him, the sideways smile still on his face.

"Well I—I have a meeting," for some reason I stutter, and I don't know why. I should feel superior to this man. I am successful and finally accomplishing everything that I've wanted to accomplish, while he is still wearing clothes from when he was sixteen. But I don't feel superior. Instead I feel like I'm back at high school. Back at Degrassi where I was a nerd; where I was an insecure teenager whose boyfriend dumped her for a blonde cheerleader.

"Everyone seems to have a meeting here or somewhere that they need to go to. And that somewhere is always the most important thing," he says this passionately, like he's been contemplating this for a long time.

"Well," I begin to respond as I watch the number above the elevator door increase from 5 to 6, "in that moment the somewhere is the most important thing. Everyone has somewhere important they need to go. Everyone has goals. What's so wrong with that?" I wonder for a moment why I'm even taking the time to have this conversation with this man. But I am, and I realize that I want to. That I feel like I'm _supposed_ to._ But since when do I follow my intuition?_

"What's wrong with that is that if everyone focuses all their attention on their goals they might miss out on something that's really important. They might never stop to smell the roses. If everyone is so focused on the where and the when, they may never stop to think about the how and the why and the who."

The number above the elevator has reached ten now and I feel the elevator suddenly jerk. I lose my balance and almost fall into the man, but I restabilize. The elevator has come to a complete stop. I look at my watch again and it is now 8:05. _Oh crap. _I really don't need this. Why today, of all days, did the elevator decide to break? I frantically push the alarm button.

"Looks like we're gonna be here for a while," he says and I shoot him a glare.

"This is Elevator Assistance, are you in need of assistance?" I hear a disembodied voice say.

"Yes. We are stuck on the tenth floor; we've come to a complete stop."

"Okay, we will try to help you as soon as we can."

"If it's possible, I really need to get out of here quickly. I have an eight o'clock meeting, and it's crucial that I don't miss it," I plead the speaker from which the voice is coming. I hear the man scoff in the background and shoot him another look that I hope says_ 'I am _so_ not in the mood right now'_

"We will try our best and should have you down within an hour or two."

"An hour or two? No. I have a meeting and I _cannot_ miss it. Please!"

"As I said, we will work as efficiently as possible, but this process could take a while."

"No, you don't understand…"

I hear a long beep and then an automated voice come on and say, "Thank you for contacting elevator assistance, please hold tight and do not leave the vicinity of the elevator as your assistance is acquired."

I feel like screaming. "Don't leave the vicinity of the elevator? I couldn't even if I tried!" I'm frantic now and I begin pounding on the door. "Help! Somebody help!"

I feel hands wrap around my wrists and I whip my head around, "Calm down there Blue Eyes, you don't want to jolt the elevator," he says softly.

"What did you just call me?"

"Blue Eyes," he says simply, "I don't exactly know your name, and I noticed that you have nice eyes. Very blue. Pretty," he is still holding on to my wrists and I yank them away, slouching down into the corner of the elevator, not caring at that moment that I would get my work clothes wrinkled and dirty by doing so. I lean my head back and take in a long breath, letting it out through my mouth.

"My name is _Clare," _I say, frustrated, "Please do not call me anything else, just Clare. Unless you prefer Ms. Edwards, which would be suitable judging by your attire."

"Hey, what's wrong with my attire, _Clare_?" He emphasizes my name.

"You look like you belong in high school," I say, waving a hand towards his ensemble. He doesn't really, he looks very _right_ in his clothes, but I feel like being as insulting as I can possibly be.

"It's a form of self-expression," he says, with that sideways smile again, "Something that _you_ with your suit and briefcase wouldn't understand."

"Hey," I say, "this suit cost eight hundred dollars!"

"My point exactly."

I can't help but smile just a little. "So," I say, "you know my name, it is generally polite to tell me yours."

"Is it now?"

"Yes, it is. Or should I just call you Green Eyes?"

He sits down beside me. "You can call me Green Eyes,"

"Hmmm…tempting, but no. I want a name."

He seems to contemplate for a moment, then finally he says, "it's Fred, Fred Johnson," he extends a hand, "nice to meet you."

I stare at his hand. "Your name is _not_ Fred."

"Yes it is," he says, "I am insulted, Ms. Edwards, you just told me that my entire life's identity was false."

"I don't believe you," I say, "you paused."

"I paused?"

"You _paused_ before you told me your name."

He smiles that funny smile again. "Very acute."

"So, are you going to tell me your name now?"

"Mmm…no."

"C'mon," I say, "Why not?"

"I like to retain an aura of mystery. Keeps you interested."

"No name no game," _Was I actually flirting with this guy? _God, it had been so long since I had flirted.

"Clare…"

I like the way he says my name. _Snap out of it, Clare. He's not your type._

I don't respond, but pull out a book from my briefcase. Since I'm going to be here for a while, mine as well make use of the time. My book's getting to a good part. I flip open to the page that I have dog-eared and begin to read.

_I am broken. There is no one to go to because the person that I would go to is gone. She's the one who broke me. Or am I the one who broke myself? I hate myself for what I did. I'm a murderer. I can't hide from the evil, because I am the evil. I stare at the picture in my hands and she stares back at me, her eyes seem to bear into my very being. Dark hair frames her white face and a black frame frames her. That's all she'll ever be now; a memory in a frame; a regret that will haunt me for the rest of my life._

"What book are you reading?" He asks.

I ignore him and flip the page.

He reads the cover, "_Regret_, by Elijah Goldsworthy. Hmm…is it any good?"

I try to keep reading but I can't focus with the man sitting inches away from me.

"Silent treatment. Real mature, now who's the one in high school?"

I slam the book shut, "still you."

"And she speaks!"

I stick my tongue out at him and he does his little smile thing again. _A smirk. _I note. That's what it is.

"So, is it?" he asks.

"Is what?"

"Is it any good?"

"Yes. It's quite good. He's my favorite author actually."

The man smirks again as if enjoying a private joke. "What about him do you like?"

"Are you finding this funny?" I say, hitting him playfully on the leg with my book.

"Not at all. I'm intrigued. Well…maybe I'm finding it a little funny. But I'm just trying to learn more about an interesting stranger."

"This, coming from someone who won't even tell me his first name."

He ignores my comment. "So what do you like about the author?"

I give in and begin to talk. "His prose is…powerful. It makes you think, you know? It's dark, but inspiring and beautiful. Not too many people know about him, and I used to not read stuff like this, but one day…" I trail off, realizing what I was about to tell him.

"One day, what?"

"Never mind," I say looking down.

"No, tell me."

I shake my head.

"Clare, chances are, you're never going to see me again. What's the harm in telling a fascinating stranger one of your dirty little secrets?"

"It's not dirty…it's just…you're going to think that it's silly."

"No I won't. This is a judgment free elevator."

I look up into his eyes and I can't shake that feeling again; like I'm back in high school; young and innocent, before I had goals and places that I needed to go, like it is just us here, with nothing to lose. "If I tell you, you have to tell me your name."

He thinks for a moment and then, extending a hand says, "deal."

I shake his hand, my eyes not leaving his. "Well, sometimes," I say, "I play this game. I have to walk into a bookstore, close my eyes, and run my hand along the spines of the books. Then, when I open my eyes, I have to buy and read whatever book I'm touching."

"I don't think that sounds silly at all," he says, looking at me with something new in his eyes; a kind of awe.

I blush, "One time I read the entire C section of an encyclopedia."

"You must be very knowledgeable, then."

"On everything from Calcium to the Czartoryski family."

He smiles. "So that's how you found the book."

I nod.

"It must feel liberating to do that."

"It is. So liberating. So often, people always feel like they have to have a plan. I always feel like I have to have a plan, but in that moment, I don't have to. I know that when I open my eyes, no matter what, everything will be okay. It's my own little way of taking a risk when I so rarely do. And hey, it led me to discover my favorite author, so maybe fate does play a hand."

He stares at me, and I stare at him, "It must," he says.

I jump, as if I have been in a trance when the bodiless voice comes back on through the speaker, "this is Elevator Assistance and we are pleased to inform you that your elevator is running once again, please press the corresponding number of your desired floor."

For some reason, getting to my meeting doesn't seem as important as it had before, but I get up off the floor and press seventeen once again. As promised, the elevator lifts us up, and neither of us talks until I step out of the elevator. I'm about to walk to the meeting room, but I quickly whip back around as the doors are closing. I place my hand in between the doors and they open back up.

"Yes?" He says softly.

"You—you never told me your name."

He smirks again, and as the doors begin to reclose he says, "It's Eli. Elijah Goldsworthy."

**Author's Note**: Was that really bad? I don't know, but as I said, it was supposed to be a oneshot, but it could be more. Please review and tell me what you think and if you think that I should continue!


	2. Feel

**Author's Note:** Hey there all. It's Catherine again and guess what? I'm finally updating! I know…you're excited. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed and I hope that I get more for this chapter. This story is going to have at least a couple more chapters. I'm not sure how many, but we'll see. But…I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Oh and Cat wanted me to give her a shout out for helping me to flesh out some of the ideas for this story. Luv ya Cat!

**Disclaimer:** No, I do NOT own Degrassi…or Clare…or sadly, Eli…but I do own my story and my ideas.

_Chapter 2-Feel:_

"Elijah…Eli…hi, it's me again…Clare, Clare Edwards."

_I know who you are, Clare. I would never admit it to you, but I have your voice memorized._

"I know this is my third time calling you and I know that you haven't picked up the phone any of the times I've called, but I keep on hoping…well…" she trails off and I hear her mumble something unintelligible, "well…the reason I'm calling you is because I can't stop thinking about you."

_I can't stop thinking about you either._

"When we were in the elevator…you made me see things in a different way, like your writing has been doing for me for a really long time. I've been living life in so rigidly for as long as I can remember. I thought that I knew what I was doing and where I was going, but just recently I realized that I was going after all the wrong things and you helped me see that. It's not like me to go after something like this and my heart is pounding so fast right now…you don't even know,"

_ Oh I think I do…_

"I never take risks and I think that that's been my downfall in life. I'm too afraid to go after things. I'm too afraid to look…different. But maybe I am different."

_You are different, Clare._

"I can't shake this feeling that we were meant to meet that day. I'm not exactly sure what I believe anymore, but I know that there must be a God because that couldn't have just been a coincidence…I don't know if you felt it too…but…"

_I felt it. I felt it like a thunder bolt. I felt it like I haven't felt anything in a long, long time._

"Maybe I'm making a fool of myself; I mean obviously you're not responding to any of my calls. You aren't interested. You don't care for me…I-I"

P_lease don't cry. I care for you! I might more than care for you! _

_ No, Eli, don't you dare think like that!_

"I'm taking a risk. I don't want to be afraid anymore. I don't want to be afraid to try. I know that I'm ready to step out of the little world I've created where nothing ever happens and I just follow routine after routine. Where I don't _feel_. Where I don't _think_. You…you make me think and feel…in your writing and in person. I want to see you again, Elijah. Even if it's just so I know that I didn't make this all up. Please…just call me back. I gave you my number the last time I called you. I-I want to hear your voice again…I want to know that you're real…"

_I can't ever give you what you want._

"Bye…Eli," I hear her hang up and I stare down at the blank notebook page in front of me.

_Why did Clare have to make this so much harder than it needed to be? _

Before her I could live in my own little world too. I could block everything out. I could stay where I was surrounded only by my own pain. I am a creature made for solidarity. I don't want to infect anyone else. Especially not Clare. In that elevator I felt things that I was only supposed to feel when I write. I felt open and unguarded; like it was okay to explore and okay to play and be curious. But those things aren't okay. It's not okay for me to _feel_ outside of my little world. When I let myself be free I only end up hurting people. I only end up hurting myself. I hurt Julia and I've had to live with the consequences for the past fifteen years.

It used to be that I could only be my true self when I wrote, but now I feel like I can only be my true self when I have Clare. I believe in moments and I believe in contemplation, but how could one moment and one person effect me like this so much? Maybe it _is_ Fate. Maybe it is Fate's way of taunting me; of showing me what I can never have. Fate is probably up somewhere laughing her ass off at me staring at a blank piece of paper, unable to think of anything but Clare.

I can't let myself go after her. I am dangerous to her. And she's dangerous to me. I'll end up hurting her like I always hurt the people I love and she'll hurt me by making me _feel_ and tearing my guard down like she had in the elevator. No one can tear my guard down because no one can see my true colors. Except for the paper. And the people who read it. But writing is safe. Writing is the way that I can express myself and share a bit of myself with the world without hurting anyone and without hurting myself.

There's a reason that I work so hard to keep my identity private. I never have any pictures of myself in my books or on the internet. Now what possessed me to let my publicist put my phone number on my website where someone like Clare could find it? That was going down immediately. I never make any public appearances, though my publicist does urge me to. I have a small but loyal fan base. I don't have any interest in becoming a trending author. It's good to have readers and it's good to know that your work can affect people, but mostly, my writing is for me. I can express myself in my safe environment and make a decent living doing it.

Now as I stare down at my notebook, pen in hand, I tell myself again and again that I need to write.

_Eli, you have a contract, you promised you'd have a new book written two months from now._

I hate having deadlines, but usually I can meet them. Usually I can go into my own space; my own world, and write, but now I can't get there. Now I am stuck in a world that has perfect red curls and sparkling blue eyes and a light within her that seems to stretch on for miles. I seem to write automatically and I don't resist it.

_ She smiles like only she can. It's the smile that seems to glow with her love. It's overwhelming and the pure joy of it seems to envelope us both. I tuck one of her autumn-red curls behind her hair and her skin is warm and soft to my touch. I tell her that I love her, because I know that it's the truth and when she looks back at me with those clear blue eyes I see her own truth. I see the love she has for me and I see that this moment couldn't be any more perfect. That we couldn't be any more perfect._

Since when was I a goddamn romantic? I feel mushy and stupid. I'd written about death and loss and pain and hate, but never about love like this. This was something entirely new; a feeling entirely new and I know that it will destroy me if I'm not careful. This is something that belongs in its cage because it's potent and powerful and I cannot let it hurt me. I can't let it hurt anyone else. I can't let it hurt _her_.

_Fuck this; I need to clear my head._

I abruptly stand up, slamming my hands down on the table. I grab my leather jacket from my couch where I had thrown it earlier. I get my travel sized pen and notebook that I never leave the apartment without, stuff them in my pocket, and walk out of my apartment. What I need is some fresh air; some space. Being cooped up in my apartment all day with that stupid paper might be making me go a little crazy. But it had never made me crazy before. Solitude is good for me. I usually work well alone in my little apartment, but I haven't written anything in over a week; I haven't written anything since the elevator.

I exit my apartment building with a quick nod to the doorman and walk briskly through the streets of Manhattan. I don't know where I am going. I try hard not to think at all; just letting the moment carry me.

I walk and walk. I walk, almost in a trance. I let my feet take me where they want to go; down this avenue and through this town. I don't quite notice the passage of time, but I now that I've been walking for a while when I suddenly stop. I look up and see that I am standing in front of a rather large building. I recognize it immediately. This is the building that I gone to not too long ago to talk with a publisher. This is the building where I got on a certain elevator and a certain elevator got stuck while I was on it with a certain someone.

I look down at my feet and I silently curse them. I begin to turn around; to go back home, when I see her. She has her briefcase slung over her shoulder and her hair clipped back from her face. She doesn't notice me as she walks out of the building, but I can't do anything but stare at her and think:

_Fuck, she's beautiful._

I can't move. If I could I would run away, to somewhere where I could put my guard back up and never see her beautiful face again.

Then, she sees me, and her eyes widen and she freezes to; me staring at her, and her staring at me. An infinite moment seems to pass, a moment where I can't think at all, but can only feel. We are a few meters apart, but I hear her clearly when she whispers

"_Eli_,"

I feel like I'm being woken up from a dream or an out-of-body experience and sensation seems to come back to my body and my mind goes into hyper-speed.

I need to get away from here. Far, far, away from here. I begin to run from the direction that I had come. I hear quick footsteps behind me and I run faster, as though running from all my pain, all my secrets, everything in my horrible past.

"Eli!" She screams, but I don't turn around, "Eli, please come back!"

The footsteps stop but I keep running.

"I won't give up! I know that there's a reason you came here! Eli…"

But her voice fades into the background as I continue to run and run all the way back home. When I get to my apartment building I take the stairs, running up them too. I go into my apartment and all but collapse on the couch. I pant, with my hands on my knees. She said that she wouldn't give up, but I need to make her give up. I need her to never come near me again, so that I'll never go near her again. A little bit of pain now is much better than a lot of pain later. I need her to see how fucked up I am; how I could never be right. If I am going to do this, I need to do this big. I need to do this where she will get the message loud and clear.

I grab the phone and dial my publicist's number.

"Chrissie? Hi it's Eli, you know how you've been wanting to book a television appearance for me for a while? Do it. Do it as soon as you can with the biggest most televised show you can find…Thanks Chris."

I hang up the phone and go to the table where my notebook still lays. I stare down at the page with the writing on it for three heartbeats and then I tear it out, violently throwing it in the trash bin.

**A/N:** Hope you liked this chapter!

Ooh…and and and…Imma give you one word that will be important for an upcoming chapter: _rain._

Reviews…please?


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